Subtleties
by DearGlasses
Summary: They are brainwashed into believing that they cannot die... The spy knows this, all of this, and he does not forget. Oneshot.


**Title: **Subtleties  
**Summary: **They are brainwashed into believing that they cannot die... The spy knows this, all of this, and he does not forget.  
**Rating: **K+  
**Author's Note: **Herp. Seems like I _have_ do to this kind of thing for every fandom. :\ Un-beta-read. Please point out mistakes? Or contribute suggestions to make this a better piece? I really do appreciate constructive criticism.

* * *

The heavy knew it was all a lie. Everything, the war, the fighting, the death count. Even he himself, was nothing but an illusion of an individual. Thousands of others, with the same face, voice, body were pitted with and against him, then there's a knife in his back, and he dies. His body fades, and he is torn from existence. Another heavy, another man wit his appearance, rises up to take his place. All thoughts, perceptions of the lies in his world, are gone. And the new heavy begins to wonder the same thing. He doesn't last as long. But this time the operator chooses another life to end, a different piece in the deadly game of "war" they are forced to play.

The soldier doesn't question his existence, his purpose, he fights, he kills, he dies. Exactly as it should be. He may not even be aware of what he's doing. All of his actions are controlled by the operator. He dies again, and a different piece is selected, They are all a matching set, each piece varying with different hats, weapons, but deep down they are all the same. Models used to shape clones that fight meaningless battles over empty briefcases and desolate control points. The spy knows this, all of it, and he does not forget. No matter how many times he is killed, he remembers. He remembers the pain of death, the subtle thrill of wearing a disguise around the enemy undetected, and the pleasing sound of backstabbing someone. He is a monster, but he does not control his actions. Does that make him a murderer? Is a gun held responsible for the people it has killed? He is merely an instrument of pain and suffering. Not a monster. Not the angel of death. Simply a pawn. And as the pyro sets him ablaze, he wishes he could stop remembering.

They are brainwashed into believing that they cannot die, that they will simply wake up in the respawn room good as new. It is an effective strategy, the spy muses as he is directed into the enemy base, uncloaking in a secluded corner to parade around as another. He was not sure about the others his operator possessed, if they remembered like he did, or if they managed to conjure up the idea of such a thing in their short lives. He has had time to think, though the engineer has had much longer, being the record holder for the operator's longest life.

Unfortunately he would never have the chance to ask if he knew, if he remembered. They could only go out one at a time, and when they were not being used, well, even he did not know where the clones were stored. Whether it was a glitch in the system, or his strong will, he retained the memories of all the spies that came under the operator's control before him. He knew that there were other operators, thousands, each with their infinite supply of clones. He knew he had some of the memories of the original Spy, a man from France, a country he would never see. He supposed he was lucky he even got to see the "sky", there was probably some terrible underground siege going on that his operator had yet to take part in. Or at least, hadn't deemed him useful for.

Once, he tried to communicate with his teammates, though they belonged to different operators nearly every round. They were all in the same boat. But he could only speak through preselected dialogue, and that was not really speaking. His mouth moved, words were spoken, but not by him. Not by anyone. Terror struck him, real, genuine terror, as he realized how long the operator had been controlling them. It won't be long before the operator stops, and they are all sent into the void.

There is no dark, no light, no up, no down, no _time_, in that hellish place. Simply nothing. _Simply maddening._ The spy only wishes, he desperately clings to the notion that the next time he dies, he will not remember. To be free of this cloud of guilt and death, of memory, is the one thing he desires.

But it is the one thing he knows he cannot carry on without.


End file.
